


The Bearer of Good Food

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Affection, Belonging, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finn-centric, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Healing, M/M, Pining, sad childhood, struggling to fit in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing the Resistance thought they were getting in Finn was a decent chef, but Finn’s been cooking for his squad since he was small. He doesn’t mind cooking for his new friends — especially since Resistance cuisine is pretty damn awful. There's also the fact that Finn never really had a place to fit in when he was a Stormtrooper, and his journey to finding a place to fit with the Resistance. </p>
<p>Or alternatively — five times Finn cooked for other people, and one time other people cooked for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. JG-2041

**Author's Note:**

> For a [prompt on the TFA kinkmeme](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1841.html?thread=2406193#cmt2406193) about Finn being a decent chef, and deciding that he would make food for the heroes of the Resistance, including Poe and Rey.

Sanitation kids were always the most cheerful, JG-2041 thought. Admittedly, they had the worst job on the whole base (except, perhaps, for Kylo Ren’s assistant), so maybe it was the suppressed joy from getting off shift and into the kitchen. There was one of them — one of the FN series? — that seemed to be almost impossible to deflate, even when they hadn’t made their team goal so they were on unflavoured polystarch portions and water. 

“Chef?” One of the sanitation kids was at JG-2041’s side, rather than eating with their squad. “Permission to ask a question?” 

“Permission granted.” 

The small mask looked down at its feet, the child inside still too young to quite grasp that JG-2041 couldn’t see its face. JG-2041 smiled, secure in the knowledge that no-one would ever know. 

“One of the troopers in FJ squad said that once we pass through the next four training cycles, we’ll have to take over our own meal preparation.” 

“Yes,” said JG-2014. “That is correct.” 

The child fidgeted. “If that is correct, is it possible for FN-2187 to learn how to make meal preparation palatable? The FJ squad said it would take several cycles to learn, and FN squad has a recreational period scheduled during the primary meal preparation phase…” 

“FN-2187, are you suggesting that you might surrender your recreational period over the next four training cycles so as to learn to cook?” 

“I didn’t mean to be—“ The trooper stopped himself. “This cadet enjoys learning new skills.” 

JG-2041 patted FN-2187 on the shoulder. “You will report here at the beginning of standard hour six, and stay until standard hour nine.” 

FN-2187 practically vibrated with joy. “Yes, Chef. Affirmative. I mean. Thank you.” 

________

 

There were three standard hours of meals twice a day; the first was all the little ones. The focus was on nutrition for peak efficiency; building good muscle mass, bones and teeth, good brains, all the things that food can do. It was also bland and easy to produce en masse; several hundred small stormtroopers need feeding quickly and efficiently, and that’s something that large puddings, mystery meat stews, reconstituted slush, and polytarch portions can achieve very quickly. It also packed up well into shift-meals, cold and uninviting as they were, which could be eaten quickly in the middle of the daytime shift. 

The second standard hour of meals was when any squad member not on active duty could exchange tokens for ready-prepared food. Portions of polystarch, usually; it was no surprise that given the hours of active duty, and the appetites of most of the troopers, that they availed themselves of communal kitchen facilities during the quieter hours. The third standard hour was officers, who did not cook for themselves. JG-2041 took pride in what was served to the officers; it would be pleasing to have a helper for the creation of these meals. 

FN-2187 showed up promptly at standard hour six, even though their squad had been given extra rations that evening after a particularly gruelling march across the lava fields to the north, where the engineering teams were constructing The Weapon. 

“FJ leader said these greens were good to eat,” said FN-2187, holding out a handful of fireweed leaves. JG-2041 was glad that the mask covered raised eyebrows; the last plot of fireweed had been burned out with the construction of the huge drilling apparatus that would one day turn the icy planet into a starkiller. 

“Where did you get those?” 

It was amazing how FN-2187 could shrug in what was quite restrictive armour. “I climbed up on a pile of rocks. None of the others was game to do it, but it wasn’t as dangerous as it is in the garbage pit when we go in to unblock the mechanism.” Tiny hands were good for getting wedged pieces of garbage out, true, but sometimes there was one less mouth to feed if something went wrong. 

“Good work, FN-2187.” 

“Thank you.” FN-2187 was puffed up with pride. “What do we do with them? Should we give them to the others to eat?” 

“We’re going to cultivate them,” said JG-2041, because Captain Phasma liked fireweed, and Kylo Ren, fussiest of eaters, did not. “But we’ll add some to the dishes for your squad, and then I’ll show you how to crisp them so that they can be served with even something as awful as proteinloaf and it’ll taste good.” 

“But I like proteinloaf,” said FN-2187. 

“At ease, cadet,” said JG-2041. “You have much to learn.” 

__________

 

After the fireweed, FN-2187 brought back fern potatoes, amber root, small berries that the computers cleared as edible which tasted a little like fizzing sugar, and from one planetside visit, rancor jerky, which tasted just as disgusting as it sounded.   
It was a shame, JG-2041 thought, that one couldn’t request a shift in assignments. FN-2187 would be a worthy successor to the position of chef, given the years needed to train properly and the patience to not try to jam everything into one’s mouth before considering whether it was, in fact, edible. Instead, FN-2187 did as all the younglings did; trained in weapons operation, close combat (armed and unarmed), ranged combat, squad bonding and goals, and completed their shipwide duty.The small kitchen garden of plants growing in old tins of mass-produced food sludge was regularly raided for FN squad, but equally tended by FN-2187. Even once the long training cycles passed and FN squad were to take care of their own food, FN-2187 showed up and learned. 

Until one day, they didn’t, and instead of FN-2187, Captain Phasma came to the kitchens at standard hour six. JG-2041 saluted crisply. 

“It has come to my attention that FN-2187 has not been undertaking prescribed rest periods,” said the Captain. “I have authorised reconditioning.” She regarded the kitchen garden with what could only be disdain. “This…hobby… will not continue to to be indulged.” 

“Understood, Captain,” said JG-2041, an inexplicable pang like the worst heartburn blooming at Phasma’s words. 

“See that nothing of the sort happens again.” 

“Understood.” 

And of course, the next time that FN-2187 was in the kitchens, there was no spark of recognition, no springing steps or pride in their stance. They were with others from their squad, standing slightly apart, and JG-2041 wondered how much their superiors had conditioned away, what the child might retain. It seemed to be nothing, and the heartburn pang returned. 

But there was work to be done. 

________

 

(And then, not long after, someone had neatly trimmed down the fireweed where it hung over the edge of the tin, the leaves faintly corroding the metal. And there was a note scribbled on the back of a soup packet. 

_Thanks._

JG-2041 hid it, and found a spring in their step. And if the next time FN squad were sent out on a reconnaissance mission, there was a handful of sweetblossom left in with the other plants, who was to know but the two of them?)


	2. Slip

Slip’s favourite food was fireweed. It was the spicy crunch to it, the sort of pleasant heat that filled you once you’d taken a mouthful, radiating out from your stomach and into your limbs. They’d been fortunate as a squad that FN-2187 had taken an interest in cooking; an interest that had survived several rounds of reprogramming, something about the visceral pleasure of taste and smell overriding even the worst tortures.

Sometimes Slip wondered if that was why FN-2187 liked cooking so much. 

There were few pleasures afforded to Stormtroopers. There was the pleasure of a job well done. The warmth of praise from one’s superiors. The excitement of seeing trees burn, their sap welling up and smelling strongly (even through the mask) as the work on the weapon progressed. 

And there were those pleasures that you took where you found them: the pleasure of snow melting to water on your skin if you pulled off your helmet. The joy of sneaking in banned materials to the barracks; watching holos together with half an eye on the door, the thrill of almost being caught adding to the experience. The closeness that a squad could steal; never much, just moments. Fingers brushing before a training mission. A clap on the back or the shoulder. Gentle hands bandaging or soothing when someone was injured. 

Maybe FN-2187 just liked those things. 87 was strange; Captain Phasma obviously favoured them, far more than anyone else in their squad. But Phasma also seemed to dislike 87. Slip wasn’t sure how they felt; there was something a little too eager about FN-2187, especially without the helmet on. A little too happy to please, or to help. It was never clear if it was an act, a form of calculated compliance, and that made Slip uncomfortable. 

But Slip couldn’t deny that FN-2187 knew the uses of fireweed. Even the smell of it was cleansing; it was clearly the major ingredient in the soup that FN-2187 was trying to force upon Slip. Slip had missed standard mealtime for their group; a bad fall had meant extra laps in training, and extra laps meant lateness for sanitation shift, which meant mucking out the slimy water at the bottom of the compactor pit, which meant — every infraction, however small, was like the first stone that caused the avalanche. 

“Hey,” said FN-2187, sitting across the table and nudging the soup bowl against Slip’s forearm. “Eat this. You’ll feel better.” 

“I fell behind,” said Slip, trying to ignore the smell. “I deserved any injury I sustained.” 

“Mmm.” FN-2187 sounded non-judgemental, but they didn’t wear their helmets in rest periods, so it was a lost cause. “How about you eat the soup, then hold your pity party?” 

“Pity party?” 

FN-2187 shrugged. “Colloquial term from the holos that Nines smuggled in last week.” 

They weren’t supposed to watch non-sanctioned media. Slip could cover over their own failure to perform by showing their commanders the failings of Nines, and FN-2187, and anyone else who watched non-sanctioned media. But that felt wrong, like betrayal. Slip gave up, and took the soup. 

The soup was good. It burned hot all the way down, almost as if it could loosen the kinks in Slip’s back that came from the fall, and from the extra work. 

“I liked them. The holos. I know Nines brought them in so we could have a laugh at how stupid people in the Resistance are, but I — just—” said FN-2187, as if imparting a big secret. “I liked them more than the sanctioned materials. There was one which didn’t have a war in it, just…” 87 looked down. “Just people who were stupid about being in love with one another.” 

“Love is a distraction from duty,” said Slip, taking another spoonful of soup. 

“Yes,” said FN-2187, not meeting Slip’s eyes. “But it looked nice.” 

“And what if the person you loved called upon you to compromise your duty?” Slip’s guts hurt, suddenly, like taking a kick without armour. “Or if they didn’t, but they were injured on the battlefield and you had to make a choice? That’s not _nice_.” 

“I know,” said FN-21877. “But if we weren’t—“ 

“Shut up,” said Slip. “Just. Shut up. I’ve eaten your stupid soup; we should take a shower and get to our bunks.” 

__________

 

The others were already in the small barracks bunks for FN squad when FN-2187 and Slip returned from the communal fresher, Slip unable to hide the stiffness in worksore joints. Nines had another smuggled holo, and they were all watching it; someone made a rude noise when the woman on the screen swooned into the arms of the Resistance pilot. FN-2187 frowned, and then turned to Slip. 

“Your back is cramping again,” 87 said. 

“I’ll take a stimpack.” 

“I’m happy to help.” 

Remedial massage was taught to all Stormtroopers; close personal contact strengthened squad bonds, and the practice could relieve the strain on Medical for minor injuries. But Slip didn’t want FN-2187’s pity, and that’s all this was, pity, or duty, or something like that. Eventually, Slip would fall far enough behind that reconditioning wouldn’t help. It was almost a benediction — one day, you will die, and you will never have to do any of this again. 

“Come on,” said FN-2187. “On your stomach.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to.” 

The hot soup sat in Slip’s belly as FN-2187 dug warm, strong hands into the knotted muscles of Slip’s back. Somewhere in the background, there was music playing, and the others mocking the plot of the holo with gusto. You took your pleasure where you found it. 

“Do you ever feel like things should be different?” asked FN-2187, softly. 

“I feel like I should be meeting baselines,” said Slip, tensing as FN-2187 hit a tight knot. “Is that what you mean?” 

“No. Nevermind.” 

Everything about FN-2187 was soothing. Perhaps that’s why Slip didn’t really like them that much. Perhaps that’s why none of the squad liked them that much; FN-2187 reminded them too intimately of everything they weren’t allowed to have.


	3. Snap

Snap was happy that the Stormtrooper kid had finally got out of Medical on limited day release; it’d been touch and go, and Dameron had flown some risky missions to secure their supply of bacta, but the kid was out and about and looking at everything with a wide-eyed delight that made everyone want to be his friend. Snap wasn’t worried about him. He’d get along just fine, and he and Poe seemed to be getting caught in each other’s gravity to the point it was time to declare them in orbit with one another, which meant that everyone got to know Finn quickly, because everyone knew Poe. 

It also meant that everyone kept an eye on Finn when Poe was sent on mission. Snap more than most, maybe, because he’d been there with Kaydel and Pamich when Poe left; Finn had been there on special release from Medical, and Poe had pressed their foreheads together, saying something unintelligible that made Finn smile. Then he and BB-8 had taken off in the older A-wing that they were sending out for this mission — Black One being a bit of a giveaway that the Resistance were in the sector — and Finn had stood there like a happabore waiting for its master to come home. 

“Breakfast time,” said Snap, once he thought everyone had moped enough. “Come on, it’s yellow squadron on this morning, so there’s a 50/50 chance it won’t be rubbery.” 

“Can I stay out of the infirmary for breakfast?” Finn gave an imploring look to C-3PO, who’d accompanied him out. Usually Poe was the one who took him on excursions, but of course, Poe was already in hyperspace. 

“Certainly, Master Finn,” said C-3PO. “But then we must return so that Major Kalonia can attend to your continued recovery.” 

Finn frowned. “I thought she was Doctor Kalonia?” 

“She is, Master Finn,” said C-3PO. 

“But she’s also a Major, and he’s a protocol droid,” said Snap. “I’ll take him from here; you go and attend to General Organa.” 

“But my orders were —“ 

“The good Doctor will understand,” said Snap, putting an arm around Finn’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” said Finn. “She’ll understand. I’m her favourite patient.” 

“If you are certain….” 

“We’re certain,” said Snap, steering Finn towards the mess. 

“Thanks,” said Finn, once C-3PO was out of sensor range. “I mean, he’s all right. But he gets a bit much.” 

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Snap. “Sit. The others won’t get here for another half-hour, and then it gets a bit like feeding time at the rathtar enclosure, if you take my meaning.” 

Finn sat, and Snap got them both a decent tray of food, bringing it back across. The ground crew joined them, Pamich complaining about the stickiness of the bread; in her world, bread wasn’t supposed to be sticky. 

“You eaten in here yet?” asked Snap, sticking a fork in. 

“No,” said Finn. “They’ve focussed on giving me nutrient packs instead of actual food.” 

Snap whistled. “Rough. The basics are that every squadron does kitchen duty on a rotation. Some are better at it than others. You’re in luck this morning.” 

“This is Resistance food?” asked Finn, staring at his plate. “I thought you guys lived on…I don’t know, not this.” 

“Most chefs don’t come joining the Resistance,” said Kaydel, mournfully. 

Snap regarded Finn. There was something thoughtful in Finn’s expression. “You offering to cook?” 

“Sure. I mean, where I grew up, we had to cook for ourselves on top of combat training and menial duties,” said Finn. “I’m no chef, but I’m better at it than _this_.” 

“They actually called it menial?” Snap felt a bit sorry for the kid. 

Finn looked away. “I’m not saying it was good. Just that I’m not doing any combat duties at the moment, so I could do cooking if it would be useful.” 

“Let’s get you fully out of Medical,” said Snap. “But yeah, that’s a good idea.” His forkful of egg managed to be runny and rubbery at the same time, but he ate it anyway. “A _real_ good idea.” 

_______________

 

Snap didn’t think much more of it until he was on kitchen rotation, and Finn was in the kitchens. When he looked back, he’d noticed an improvement in the food. He’d put it down to the Ground Crew not sucking as much as some of the other groups, but nope, there was Finn in the kitchen, and he’d laid out workstations before anyone got in there. 

“Finn!” Nien looked particularly pleased to see him. 

“Hey, how’s your arm?” asked Finn, and Nien held out the appendage for inspection. 

“Good as new.” 

Finn grinned. “I’ve always done that exercise when I get a case of blaster fingers.” He looked around at the expectant pilots of Blue squadron. “All right. Uh. All right. So we’re a bit low on edible rations right now, and we’re going to have to use polystarch and a few other things to bulk out dinner. But Vober’s got a shipment of edibles on the way in, so it’s just going to be today. If anyone wants to come out on a foraging mission with me later, I’d…uh…I’d appreciate it.” 

Of course; the kid wasn’t going to be allowed out on his own until he’d proven himself loyal a thousand times over. Just precautions, Snap thought, but rough if you were looking to really belong somewhere. No-one put up their hand to volunteer, and Finn nodded. 

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get into this; I promise you once we’re finished, no-one will even know that there’s polystarch in it.” 

Snap could sort of see what Finn got out of cooking, when he was instructed on what to do. There was a calming meditativeness to the chopping of the ingredients, a sense of accomplishment when four things that looked like they should become sludge turned into a rather palatable stew. And in the kitchens, people listened to Finn — most of them had never cooked much before, or had relied on ready-made meals and ration packs. It was a novelty to have someone explain how to roll synthetic flavour leaves up before chopping them, which made them into fine slivers of salty death (instead of the big lumps of salty death that often showed up when Poe tried to use them to flavour things. Snap missed Poe, if only because Poe was the worst cook in the entire Resistance, which in turn made the rest of them look basically competent.) And it was a novelty not to have to force down dinner, because usually when they ran out of all the good rations, what was left tasted like eating a droid steak: metallic and apt to break your teeth. 

“It’s like he works miracles,” said Pava, as they ate. “This is literally the first thing you guys have cooked that hasn’t tasted like banthashit.” 

“It’s a plot to wear us down before he murders us in our beds,” said Skarob Roi, and Snap knew she was joking, but everyone was silent, because _shit_ , there was Finn, and there was no chance he hadn’t heard. 

“I was just—“ said Finn, and the humiliation in his expression was almost too much to bear. “I — okay.” 

“Finn,” said Skarob, all the blood draining from her face. “I didn’t mean it seriously, I—“ 

He waved off the apology, but he had the worst poker face Snap had ever seen. “It’s fine,” he said. “You were joking. I was coming over to see if anyone wanted a second helping — I don’t want to keep this stuff when there’s fresh food on the way in.” 

“Me,” said Snap. “I do. Come on, Pava.” 

Later, Snap went to find him; he hadn’t shown up after dinner to sit in the lounge with the rest of the off-duty staff, and that sick, humiliated look stuck in Snap’s memory like a stone in his shoe. Eventually, he tracked Finn down to a vantage point outside, just looking at the stars. Still in sight of the base under the strong moonlight, but too far to hear what people were saying. 

“Hey,” said Snap, sitting next to him. “You all right?” 

“Yeah,” said Finn. “I like being able to sit out here at nights; I never got much of a chance back ho— Back on Starkiller.” He folded his arms. “It’s weird, right? It wasn’t a good place. I never want to go back there. But sometimes stuff just slips out.” 

“It was part of your life for a long time, I guess,” said Snap. He wasn’t good at all this touchy-feely stuff; they needed Poe for that. “I was going to say I’ll come with you. Foraging. If you want.” 

Finn turned to him, smiling brilliantly. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” said Snap. “I’ll go see the General in the morning and get a leave pass for both of us.” 

“You’re the best, man,” said Finn. “I promise I’ll make it worthwhile; there’s always something to find, and I can cook anything.” 

“Even banthashit?” 

“If I had to do it, I would make the best banthashit pie you’ve ever tasted,” said Finn, and Snap laughed. 

“You’re all right, kid,” he said. “I like your style.” 

As they sat, cloud scattered across the sky, darkening the route back to the base, blocking out the bright moon and their view of the distant stars. Snap shivered; he liked the black, but he didn’t like the dark. 

“Come on,” he said. “We should get back in to base; that looks like it’s going to be a cloudburst sometime soon, and Poe’ll kill me if we get you well only to have you laid up with some sort of rain fever.” 

Finn stretched, still looking at the sky. “Yeah,” he said. “But I don’t mind the rain.”

“Then have I got a piece of real estate for you,” said Snap, and Finn laughed. He slung an arm around Finn’s shoulders to walk them both in, and he made sure to walk past the lounge, just so everyone could see that Skarob’s ill-timed comment hadn’t scarred their boy for life. 

“We’ll have to see about getting you a room,” said Snap, when Finn revealed that he had to go back to Medical. 

“That’d be nice,” said Finn. “I’m sure they can use the bed in Medical, right?” 

“Not the point,” said Snap. “All right. Here we are; see you later, Finn.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Finn replied, and Snap was halfway down the corridor before he heard Finn clear his throat. “Snap?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think Poe will come home soon?” asked Finn. 

“I don’t know,” said Snap, and that was the truth. “Get some sleep; big day tomorrow, right?”

 

____________

 

Snap had to go to General Organa to get the leave pass to take an aircraft on their foraging trip. She seemed delighted with him when he made the request, approving it almost instantly. 

“It’s good of you to take him,” she said. “It’ll help him settle in.” 

“Is it true that Finn needs a chaperone?” asked Snap. 

“Yes,” said the General, with a sigh. “There’s been some dissent about letting an ex-Stormtrooper wander out alone.” 

Skarob’s joke came rushing back to him, and no wonder Finn had been upset, if he’d been getting it from the top as well as from his peers. 

“We let him feed us,” said Snap. “Isn’t he more likely to make an attack there?” 

“The argument is that in the kitchens he’s always under observation,” said the General, and she looked, for a moment, exhausted. “It’ll take a few months, Snap. It always does. But Finn’s got a good heart, and people will see that soon.” 

He wondered if she knew that because she knew people, or if it was some Force thing. It was never good to ask too many questions; he took the leave pass, and went to get Finn. 

It took three hours of low atmosphere flying until Finn spotted what he thought looked the most likely place to fill the hold with a cargo of — well, Snap didn’t really know, leaves and things? Cooking things. Things that he was honestly surprised an ex-Stormtrooper knew anything about. Snap went off to see a tree about an Ewok, and when he got back to the clearing where they’d landed, Finn was already piling up bits of stick and leaf. 

“Snap!” Finn was rushing around like a madman. “You’ll never guess what I found!” 

“The ‘off’ switch for the rain generator?” 

Finn stopped. “There’s a rain generator on this planet?” He looked at Snap for confirmation, and then rolled his eyes at being taken in. “Irony. Thanks.” 

“What’ve you got, then?” asked Snap. 

“Edible leaves,” said Finn. “There’s fruit, too — I found a whole tree of swamp plums about to fruit.” 

“Sounds delicious,” said Snap, because seriously, _swamp plums_ sounded like a euphemism. 

“I’m picking up on the tells when you use irony, you know,” said Finn. “Come on, we’re going to take some of everything back to base. Have a plum.”

He tossed a glassy-looking fruit to Snap, who caught it on reflex. Finn threw another into the air, caught it, and then tucked in with every sign of relish. Snap decided to humour him. On cue, it started to rain; they were both soaked to the skin in seconds, but Finn shook it off and kept gathering swamp plums. 

“This is brilliant,” said Snap, after three bites. “Why didn’t we know about this fruit before?” 

“They only grow in very wet conditions,” said Finn. “Most planets only have a few spots damp enough.” 

“Didn’t you grow up indoors?” asked Snap, rainwater dripping off the end of his nose, seeping down the back of his flightsuit.

“After they reach a certain level in their training, Stormtroopers feed themselves,” said Finn. “Basic rations are supplied — enough to keep you on your feet — but if you want to actually enjoy what you eat, you learn what there is to forage. Starkiller was big enough and had enough soil to grow some things, and every time we were sent to a planet for exo training it was a competition to see who could find something decent to supplement the portions and rations.” He exhaled, and looked at Snap with a wild gaze. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve talked about any of it to someone who wasn’t the General, or Poe.” 

“Happy to hear it,” said Snap, which wasn’t strictly true. He shied away from thinking about Stormtroopers as people; it made life less traumatic to do so. “So we’re taking some of these things back with us?” 

Finn nodded. “Everything we can carry.” 

So he found himself helping Finn set up a hydroponic garden in an old shipping container; if they had to strike base quickly, it could be loaded into the belly of a transport, and the plants would be protected from rotting in the frankly miserable weather on this shitty planet. Snap preferred space, where the climate could be controlled with the press of a button. 

Pava came and joined them after a while, helping the construction efforts, and then Iolo, and then more people, until they’d rigged up a set of pipes and plant pots. Jess laughed at one of the proposed inclusions. 

“That’s fireweed,” she said. “Does it really need a pot? Damn stuff will grow on metal if you let it.” 

“It’s tenacious,” said Finn, arranging the leaves. “I think it deserves a place here.” 

“What’s it used for?” she asked. 

“It’s edible. Makes a great soup,” said Finn. “You can put it in oil, too, if you’re trying to get a bad knot out of a muscle.” 

“Tenacious and useful,” she said, pulling a serious face. Finn threw a clump of dirt at her, missing her by a mile. 

“You know,” said Ello, dusting off his hands. “Now you’ve got your garden here, you’ll have to stay.” 

The smile that burst onto Finn’s face was as dazzling as starlight in the void. 

“Too right,” said Pava, throwing the dirt back and getting his face. “You’re one of us now.”


	4. Leia

There were rumours on the base that the ex-stormtrooper had taken over supervising each squad’s rotation in the kitchens. Leia checked into them enough to ascertain that they were true — Finn had taken over, mostly because no-one else wanted to — and then she left well enough alone. She did notice a change in the quality of the food, though; what had been fairly ordinary mass rations started to have flavour and colour, and there was a distinct local flair to some of the side dishes. She was sure no-one would have ordered swamp plums as a fruit option, but there they were, with a choice between stewed and candied in the dessert lineup. 

“General,” said a voice, as she took her seat at one of the long tables. Officers didn’t eat separately on D’Qar — it was an exercise in building relationships that had grown into genuine friendships. She turned, and saw Brance behind her.

“Get something to eat — you look positively grey,” she said to him, and he nodded, filling his own tray before joining her.

“Good news,” he said, and it was wonderful to see him able to impart something other than losses. “Commander Dameron made contact. Just using the ansible, but enough for us to be cautiously optimistic.” 

“That _is_ good news,” she said. “Just the sort of morale booster I could use.” 

“Passing on the latest?” said Ematt, joining them.

It was good news; if Poe was alive, and if he’d managed to turn Rhea Eik to their cause, then he’d be on his way now to break into the datastores of the First Order. Finn had been very helpful, far more helpful than he’d realised, she thought. He hadn’t known names of planets that he’d worked on, but his peculiar knowledge of the flora and fauna had allowed their astrogators to cross-check and narrow down to systems, and in some cases, specific worlds and moons. Finn’s description of a planet that was “pretty, but full of rancors, and they have a fruit there which looks like stars when you cut it” had led them to a base, and the rest was history. 

“Let me be the bearer of glad tidings for once,” said Brance. 

Ematt nodded. “Good idea assigning Finn to the kitchen,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve eaten this well since before the battle of Yavin.” 

“I didn’t assign him,” said Leia. “He positioned himself in there.” 

“Well, sir, my professional opinion is that he should be stationed there,” said Evatt, and Leia smiled, because of _course_ it was Evatt’s professional opinion. “I walked past this afternoon, and he was instructing Yellow Squadron in how to cut up leaves. Who knew there was more than one way to cut a leaf?” 

“He’ll be pleased that Poe is almost on his way back,” said Brance. “First thing Poe asks for after he’s reported in is to talk to Finn.” 

“I think they made a strong impression on one another,” said Leia, clearing her plate. “You finish up here; I’ll go and listen to the message and then let Finn know the good news.” 

Once she’d confirmed that yes, Poe was alive, and he’d nearly completed his mission, she went to find Finn. Brance was right; sometimes, there was a deep satisfaction in being the bearer of good news, the person who gave hope rather than crushing it. Given that Finn wasn’t in the kitchens, nor was he playing holochess with off-duty crew, she tried the place that people were starting to call ‘the garden’. 

The garden was lush and beautiful; testament to how long Finn had been here, the plants flourishing just as he was. Kalonia had told her recently that Finn was helping in Medical with remedial massage, and there was practically a queue around the corner for his services. It made Leia feel warm, full of affection for him; someone born to kill who was now quietly helping everyone he met. Leia had initially thought that Finn and Wexley’s garden was a fairly creative scheme for growing something _other_ than food, but as she moved through it turned out that there was only one psychedelic plant in the whole lot, and the rest seemed to be common herbs and salad leaves, with fern potatoes happily thriving in an old storage drum, and tentative attempts at other root crops set up and ready to go. There was even the beginnings of an espaliered fruit tree, although what fruit she didn’t know. Maybe the swamp plums? 

She left the garden, and finally spotted her quarry sitting out on the edge of the base, past the lines of light. She wouldn’t have seen him if Wexley wasn’t there with a torch, and she watched for a few minutes before softly approaching. Finn seemed to be quietly sitting out under the stars, wrapped in a blanket. She saw Wexley leave him to his contemplation, and didn’t move forward for long minutes, not until Finn broke the silence. 

“Come home soon,” said Finn, to the empty sky. “Both of you.” 

She wasn’t supposed to see this unbearably intimate request. She coughed, politely, and pretended she hadn’t heard anything. 

“Finn?” she asked. 

Finn startled. “General,” he said, dropping the blanket and getting to his feet. 

“At ease,” she said. “I’m not here to punish you.” 

“I was just enjoying the evening,” he said. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked. 

“You can have my blanket, if you’d like…” said Finn, but Leia shook her head. 

“I’m all right. My clothing thermally regulates.” So, she thought, did his, but perhaps he wanted the comfort of being wrapped up in something. She sat beside him in silence, feeling the warmth of his shoulder next to hers. She hadn’t spent much time sitting and contemplating since Han’s death; sometimes she felt as if she could feed everything she had to the black hole of sorrow for everything she’d lost, so she tamped it down and ignored it best she could. 

Beside her, Finn shifted, picking at the hem of his blanket. 

“Do you….do you have any information on when Poe will be back?” 

That damn slicer. If they didn’t need her so badly, then Poe would have given up weeks ago. His last visual transmission had worried her — he was tired and worn, and she knew that if she’d told him to pack it in, he would have. But instead she’d told him to try harder, and tonight there’d been that short, sharp message of tones over the ansible. She wondered if he still looked half-dead. 

“That’s why I came to find you. His mission is almost done; I promise he’ll be home soon,” she said. “It was complex. There was a slicer we wanted to bring around to our point of view, and Poe managed it.” 

“Is that a euphemism?” asked Finn. “Bring around?” 

“Not as far as I know,” she said. “All they have to do is slice one system, then they’ll return. A week or two at the longest, depending how good BB-8 is at the astrogation plots.” Poe, bless him, was a great fighter, a wonderful pilot, but a somewhat ponderous astrogator. 

The problem was that the one system was nestled right in the middle of Hutt space, so Poe was going to need all of his wits to get in and out without attracting too much attention. But she didn’t want to think about that now; she had to have confidence that he would come home. She got up, her back and knees protesting. 

“Thanks,” said Finn, looking up at her. 

“Don’t stay out here too long,” she said, and left him to it. 

 

______

 

The morning of Leia’s birthday dawned just like every other, just like every morning she had to live in this universe. She was tired, more tired than she rightfully should be, but the First Order threat was always there, and people looked at her as if she could solve it. The worst part was they came to her with such trust that she was terrified of disappointing them. 

She wasn’t expecting a knock at the door; she slipped on her dressing robe, hoping it wasn’t Brance with terrible news. Poe was still somewhere out in Hutt space, and Gial Ackbar had gone out last night on a diplomatic mission to one of the scattered chunks of the New Republic. She couldn’t bear to lose any more friends. 

It wasn’t Brance. It was Finn, with a tray in his hands. 

“Finn?” she asked. “You wanted to see me this early in the morning?” 

“Can I come in?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she said. “What’s the problem?” 

“Um,” said Finn, uncharacteristically nervously. “Rey sent me a message, because you and Master Luke are twins, and I thought —“ He put the tray down on the table. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done, General, but I make an excellent breakfast. Happy birthday.” 

Of course. Of _course_ she’d have taken such pains to tell the others not to make a fuss, only to be undermined by Luke. She couldn’t tell Finn to get out; he was too beautiful and hopeful, and he’d thought he was doing her a service, not reminding her that there was no-one here to share this breakfast with her. 

“Sit,” she said. 

“Oh, I—“ 

“ _Sit_ , Finn.” She sat opposite him, and took the lid off the tray. “There’s a lot here.” 

“I thought you might want to share it with someone,” he said, abashed. “Then I realised — but it was too late to —“ 

“I do want to share it with someone,” she said. “I want to share it with you.” 

It was almost a shame to break the perfection of the tray — fresh eggs, bread that hadn’t been reconstituted from powder, actual vegetables that must have come from the garden. 

“You enjoy cooking,” she said, as he served her. 

“Yes,” he said. “Snap said it’s all right if I do more of the cooking rotations than I’m rostered on for. It’s — I like being useful.” 

“You don’t have to be useful,” she said. “You have the right to exist without having to be useful.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” said Finn. “I _like_ being useful. And I like cooking. Like Poe likes flying. He’d fly even if he wasn’t rostered on for it.”

She caught his eye, then, because she hadn’t meant to underestimate him. “Finn,” she said. “If you want to cook, then cook. You clearly have a gift for it.” She took a mouthful of bread. Clearly.

“I asked Admiral Ackbar what you liked when C-3PO wouldn’t tell me,” said Finn. “3PO said it was supposed to be a secret that it was your birthday and got huffy with me for even asking.”

“How did you get him to not come barging in here to remind you that it’s not proper protocol to force breakfast on people who don’t want their birthday acknowledged?” she asked, smiling. It was the wrong thing to say. Finn’s face fell. “That’s not what I meant, Finn. I’m pleased you’re here.” 

“I’d wondered why there was no celebration planned,” he said. “We had a huge one for Jessika’s birthday last week.” 

“I wasn’t feeling in the mood to celebrate,” said Leia.

Finn nodded. “Sometimes,” he said, “sometimes, I feel like that.” He smiled ruefully, looking at the feast in front of them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up sad memories.” 

Compassion welled in Leia like a flood for this brave boy, who’d thrown away everyone and everything he’d ever known, who loved hard and fast and who’d lost people he loved. Who had even less family than she did. He’d made it through, somehow. She, too, could make it. 

“You know,” she said, after a few seconds of silence. “This kind of bread is what they used to make on Alderaan. It tastes just how I remember.” She tore some between her fingers. “I used to try to find it at every market when we went to different systems, when I was younger; when my son Ben was a boy. I wanted him to try it. Han hated it. Thought it tasted like dessert.” 

“I got the recipe from Maz,” said Finn, and something in Leia was tickled by the thought of someone as venerable as Maz Kanata trading recipes with Finn across the stars. “She’s put me in touch with Cookie, too, and he’s been…” He shook his head. “And you don’t want to know all the minutiae of how the bread made it to the table.” 

“It’s perfect,” she said. “It’s absolutely perfect. It’s the best present I could have asked for.” 

“Really?” Finn’s eyes were guileless; he’d lived his life under a helmet and had never learned to mask the very human tells of his emotions. 

“Really,” she said. “Come on, you’re a growing lad. Eat up.” 

Later, once he’d taken the tray away with him, she meditated. She thought of her brother until he was there in her mind, in her being, and for once, he let her find him. He felt lighter than when she’d last seen him; his thoughts were curious, but not demanding. 

_Luke_ , she thought, and felt him listening. _It’s time to come back._


	5. Poe

Poe felt like a million credits; he thought he’d never get the smell of Hutt space out of his nostrils, but Rhea had done her job, and they’d come in for landing in a familiar bay that felt like home, breathing the familiar air of D’Qar, tingling at the thought of seeing familiar people. It wasn’t the same talking to Finn over comm links; it had been a miserable few months of dropping in and out, ascertaining his recovery, wishing he could be there to assuage the loneliness that must have followed settling in on an unfamiliar base without either Poe or Rey. 

BB-8 squealed with delight when its ball hit the ground, and Poe offered Rhea his arm as she got out of the cramped space of the fighter he’d stolen to get them off the rancor shitball planet. She shook him off, which he didn’t mind, because he could see that his whole team was jogging across to them. Snap got there first, but then they piled on, and he was hugging people and laughing and it was so, so good to be home. 

“Finn is going to lose it when he sees that beard!” Pava elbowed him in the side. “And you won’t believe it, but _Luke Skywalker’s_ come back!” 

“What?” Poe shook his head. “You lie.” 

“Come on,” said Ello. “Come on, Finn’s in training and I really want to see his face when you walk in.” 

BB-8 was weaving circles in and out of all of them, and it was almost like when Poe had come home after Jakku, except this time he was in one piece, and he’d achieved his mission, and the whole world was perfect. 

“Hang on,” he said. “Rhea. You guys, this is Rhea Eik. We’ve got to see the General first, then I can muscle in on Finn’s training.” 

They trailed him across the base, right into communications and command; he saluted his General, and she saluted back.

“Rhea Eik,” he said, presenting the Twi’lek woman. “General Leia Organa.” 

“Major Brance will be delighted to see you,” said the General, shaking Rhea’s hand. “You’ve done us a valuable service, and you are very welcome here.” 

“Does everyone get this sort of welcome, or is it just Dameron?” asked Rhea. “Because I could get used to this sort of welcome.” 

Poe let out a breath as the General handed Rhea off to Brance; they both immediately set in with discussion of the First Order’s newer encryptions, which Poe was so sick of hearing about that he could spit. Leia turned to Poe, and then drew him close. 

“My best, bravest pilot,” she said, and something inside him melted at that. He hugged her back. “You’ve done so well. I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” 

“I’m happy to do it,” he said, because he was. He would always be happy to do it.

“Now,” she said. “You’d best get on and find Finn, because if he discovers you’re here and you haven’t seen him, he’ll be heartbroken. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to tell each other. You and I will debrief later, when you’re not dead on your feet.” 

She released him to the tender ministrations of his team, who clapped him on the back and walked with him, leading him off to a practice field. BB-8 rolled ahead of them, picking up speed when the _whooom_ and _vooooom_ of lightsabers became audible, the blades whirring and flashing. 

“BB-8!” called a woman’s voice, and BB-8 trilled with happiness as Rey powered down her lightstaff and knelt to throw her arms around the droid. And there was Finn, holding a blue lightsaber, meeting Poe’s gaze, and then suddenly Finn was running for him, and Poe was running for Finn, and they crashed into each other to the whooping and hollering of Poe’s pilots.

“You’re back, you’re back!” Finn kept repeating it, and Poe squeezed him a bit tighter. 

“I’m back, buddy,” he said, never wanting to let go. 

It was at about that point that he realised that they had a huge audience, including Luke Skywalker, which was enough to make Poe back off, because Luke Skywalker was terrifying. But Luke was smiling, just as warmly as the General had. 

“Poe Dameron,” he said, only slightly accusingly. “I feel that further lessons today may be good for Finn and Rey if they are to learn to control their enthusiasm in the face of great temptation.” 

“You _wouldn’t_ ,” said Finn. At Rey’s feet, BB-8 whined. 

“I wouldn’t,” Luke agreed. “But I will insist you both meditate to center yourselves before you do anything else. Your emotions are powerful; you must learn some modicum of control.”

“Agreed,” said Rey. “As much as I hate to say it.” 

Finn squeezed Poe again before pulling away. “But you’ll be around later?” 

“I’ll be around later,” said Poe. “I could do with a shave.” 

“Keep the beard, I like it,” said Finn. 

“Eh,” said Poe. “Don’t want people mistaking me for a Skywalker.” 

That cracked a laugh out of Luke, who waved him away; it was almost impossible to turn and leave, knowing that Finn was right there, _right there_. But he did smell a bit, and the beard was scratchy, and it’d be nice to get into actual human clothes for a while, rather than the flight suits and gear he’d worn undercover.

Snap and Jess seemed to not want to let him out of their sight. 

“So when did Luke Skywalker start training Finn?” asked Poe, as they walked back to his rooms. 

“It’s weird,” said Jess. “Skywalker and Rey just showed up here one day about two cycles after my birthday — which you _missed_ , boss — and walked in like they’d always been here.” 

“Turns out Finn’s force sensitive,” said Snap. “It’s probably why the First Order stuff never worked on him. He’s more like the General than Luke, Rey reckons, but still worth training.” 

“Not like Rey. She’s _amazing_.”

“How did everyone take it?” asked Poe. 

“There was a few rumblings at first,” said Snap. “Just — you know, the stuff people were going on with before you left. But Finn’s been settling in well; we’ve had him out on a couple missions, just supervised flybys and things, and he’s made a lot of friends in Medical.” 

“Good,” said Poe, the tightness in his chest relaxing as he opened the doors to his rooms, breathing in the familiar smell of home. “So we got any more up and coming Jedi?” 

“Don’t know,” said Pava. “Oh, there’s something I don’t think anyone’s told you…” 

“Mmmm?” Poe checked his bedroom, the bathroom, which was surprisingly clean for being left so long, and the living quarters. Nothing appeared to have been growing in the place while he was gone (which was a Thing on D’Qar, because of the rain and the mould). BB-8 was rolling around exploring, and made a noise of alarm somewhere off down the short corridor to the spare bedroom that Poe never used. 

“Down here,” said Snap, and Poe looked into the spare room, and got a hell of a surprise. 

Someone had colonised Poe’s spare room while he was on mission. Poe blinked at it, wonderingly; the bed was neatly made, no clothing or stray items on the desk, but on the walls there was ephemera tacked in a neat pattern of papers. Mostly freehand sketches, but some technical drawings of planes, too. The bed was covered with a swathe of what looked like fabric from Naboo. Poe frowned. Who the hell…?

“Surprise,” said Jess. “You have a roommate.” 

“We set Finn up in your spare room,” said Snap, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. “It was that or put him in with Nien, and while Nien’s a great friend—“ 

“He’s an awful roommate,” Poe agreed, because he still wasn’t quite over sharing barracks with Nien Nunb on the last base. “Thanks, Snap.” 

He’d known that one day he’d have to share the suite of rooms with someone else; no-one had _that_ much space. 

“It’s good to see you, buddy,” said Snap, squeezing Poe’s shoulder. “Lot’s been happening while you were away.” 

“I can see that,” said Poe. “How about I meet you in the mess in twenty, and you can fill me in?” 

 

_________________

 

BB-8 rolled straight for Rey when she came into the mess, so Poe followed; most people weren’t sitting with Rey, which he thought might be down to the whole spooky Jedi thing. He didn’t care. She’d beaten seven shades of shit out of Kylo Ren, according to Chewbacca, which in Poe’s book made her good people. 

“Poe,” she said, and then, “BB-8! How’s my best droid?” 

BB-8 chatted away at her in binary, and Poe leaned back in his seat as the others began to join them. Eventually, he noticed that Rey was steadily moving closer to him; not exactly moving away from the pilots and comms techs who were joining them, just getting into Poe’s personal space. She wound up pressed up against his side, and Poe resisted the temptation to put an arm around her. 

“How’s life been treating you?” he asked. 

“Well,” she said. “I’m happy Master Luke decided that we could finish our training here.” She looked over to where Skywalker was talking with the General. “And Finn’s been amazing.” 

“Where is Finn?” asked Poe. 

“You’ll see,” said Snap, with a look he probably thought was mysterious, but actually made him look like he had gas. “He’s putting together a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” asked Poe. “I don’t know how many more surprises I can take.” 

“This is a good one,” said Rey, and people around the table nodded. 

Poe turned when there was a commotion from the kitchens, and then there was Finn, with a ridiculous tray and a smile that went from ear to ear. The applause was definitely a surprise; as was the fact that apparently Finn had taken it upon himself to bring Poe his food personally, like the sector’s most handsome waiter. Everyone was watching to see the outcome — even hardened veterans like Chewie — and Poe wondered what magic Finn had worked while he was away. 

“One Resistance Special, coming right up,” said Finn, grandly presenting Poe with — oh for the love of — _steak_. There was the magic, right there. Poe had to resist jumping up and kissing Finn, just for being the bearer of good food. How long since he’d had anything resembling a decent meal? “Made specially for the best pilot in the Resistance.” 

“You cook?” asked Poe, mouth watering. “You cooked this for me?” 

“Buddy, he is the best cook in the sector,” said Snap. “Where’s my steak?” 

“Waiting for you to cook it,” said Finn. “Come back to me when you’ve been away so long I’ve practically forgotten what you look like. And shove over, I’m joining the table too.” 

Poe wasn’t exactly astonished that Finn was joking with the guys, but that might have been because he was floored by the special food treatment. The collective breath the mess had been holding seemed to have been let out, and the conversation roared back into life. 

“So,” said Poe. “Finn’s…cooking?” 

“He’s taken over the kitchens while you were away,” said Jess. “And we’ve built a garden for fresh herbs and things.” 

“Finn’s taken over the kitchens,” said Poe, still a bit stunned. 

“Yeah,” said Finn, joining them again, passing a plate to Rey and tucking into his own meal. “Turns out no-one in the Resistance knew how to cook.” 

“I didn’t think anyone in the First Order knew how to cook,” said Poe. 

Finn shrugged. “Officers get good meals. Squads supplement what they have with what they find, so you get good at finding stuff, and good at making it tasty.” 

Beside Poe, Rey shuffled. “You’re taking it a lot better than I did,” she said. “I cried the first time he made a meal for me.” 

“There was one tear at the most,” said Finn, as BB-8 made a distressed squeak. 

Poe got the impression that one tear was probably more than Rey ever usually allowed herself to shed, but he kept his opinion private. 

Rey continued to talk with her mouth full. “No-one’s ever made food for me before,” she said. “Even when I found Master Luke, we didn’t eat very well. Then when we got back here and Finn gave me this big stuffed gourd thing and said it was all for me…” 

This time, Poe did put an arm around her. She let him; he suspected that she would have no qualms about jamming her fist somewhere it wasn’t wanted if he did something she didn’t like. 

“Well?” asked Finn. “Is it any good?” 

“Buddy,” said Poe. “It’s so good I think I might shed some tears, too.” Rey wriggled free from him at that, and he laughed, tucking into the best meal he’d had in years. “You’re a wonder. A marvel. Please tell me we’re keeping you.” 

“You can have me for as long as you want me,” said Finn. 

Poe swallowed. “How’s forever?” 

“Forever’s good, yeah,” said Finn, and then Snap returned and ruined the moment. Poe caught Finn’s eye, though, and smiled, thinking _yes, forever would be good_.


	6. Finn

The best part about cooking was eating, Finn thought, and the best part of eating was sharing the space and experience with other people. He bit his lip, fantasising a little about food — a roast, that’s what he’d make, a big fat nerf roast, with gravy and vegetables, and his stomach would stop feeling like it was eating itself from the inside. 

He hadn’t _meant_ to get captured. He’d been annoyed, too, because it was just a reconnoissance mission, but he’d managed to get shot down and captured, and the weird guys who’d taken him didn’t seem to know much about humans, because they didn’t feed him properly, and they couldn’t talk to him at all. It had taken all of an hour to work out how to break free, and a further twelve hours to put the plan into action, but he was free, and he could see his A-wing waiting for him. Apparently the weird scavengers hadn’t known what to do with that, either. 

His borrowed astromech, CZ-12, hummed acknowledgement when he swung into the cockpit. 

“Good to see you,” said Finn. “We flight ready?”

The binary for ‘no’ was depressingly short. He checked the diagnostics, and swore under his breath. He could mend the damage, given an oxy torch, but the nearest one of those was probably BB-8’s, and who knew where BB was? 

A terrible, but brilliant idea occurred to him. 

Master Luke was going to kill him. Maybe Master Luke wouldn’t figure it out? No. Master Luke knew everything, and he’d kill Finn, but staying here would also kill Finn, and he’d rather die on D’Qar than this sandbox. 

Finn had had to re-liberate his borrowed lightsaber from the weird guys, and he lit it up as he hit the ground. The weird guys had been lucky he’d lost consciousness when they brought his plane in — if he’d been conscious, there was no way he’d ever have let them get the lightsaber, and things would have gone very differently. Never mind. He brought the lightsaber in close, hissing and sputtering, and let the two components get nice and hot before mashing them together. He’d have burned fingers, but who cared if it got him home? 

Once he figured the join was good enough, he climbed back in, sucking on his blistered fingers to numb the pain. 

“Now, can we get off this planet before anyone gets wind of how embarrassingly badly this mission has gone for me?” 

CZ made a bleep of acknowledgement, and Finn scrabbled around for a protein bar with one hand as the engines powered up. They shot out of the planet’s gravity into the welcoming arms of space, Finn chewing on the rather squashed provisions that he’d found. Ugh, make that a roast with gravy and stewed starfruit for dessert. He deserved a feast. 

CZ-12 bleeped a warning, taking Finn’s mind off food and putting it onto the task at hand. He’d been hoping to sneak back and say he’d flubbed his astrogating, but his scanners showed he’d never be able to pull that off; Black One’s transmission signature was calling for his to hook on. Sighing, Finn connected. 

“Black One, this is—“ he began, and was immediately deafened by a shout of relief. 

“Finn,” said Poe. “Good to hear your voice, buddy.” 

“Ran into a slight problem with the locals,” he said, getting his hand on a stimpack, applying it to his other hand. 

“We thought we’d lost you,” said Poe. “Information indicated you’d gone down on that damn moon.” 

“Nah,” said Finn. “I’m harder to kill than that.” 

“Good,” said Poe, his voice sounding a little strained. “Come into formation, will you? If you’ve got damage, we’ll use the assist from Black One to ease you into hyperspace.” 

“Roger that,” said Finn, and he followed Poe all the way home. 

When they got there, the whole place was in a flap — turned out that Peazy had intercepted Finn’s frantic call for assistance as he’d plummeted through the atmosphere, his A-wing miraculously holding together — and so everyone knew that Finn had been in trouble, and there’d been a lot of arguing, and Poe had been rather dramatic about going out to see if he could recover Finn (or what was left of Finn), and Rey had loudly proclaimed to anyone who would listen that Finn wasn’t dead, because she’d sense if he was dead, and so Finn was greeted by most of the base as he came in for landing. Rey was the first to get to him; she wriggled through a line of pilots and threw herself at him. 

Which was something, really; Rey didn’t hug. She allowed herself to be hugged by a select group of people, but she rarely, if ever, initiated a hug. 

“You idiot,” she said, which was Rey for ‘I was worried’, and he held her tightly. 

“I had everything under control,” he said. Which he kind of had. If he hadn’t been the recipient of that unlucky shot… 

“You got shot down by a bunch of lizards,” she said. “They were holding you for the First Order. Seems there’s a bounty on all our heads.” 

“Why am I not surprised,” he said, groaning. His stomach groaned in sympathy. “Ugh, I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of nerf.” 

“You smell like it, too,” said Snap, helpfully, and Finn grinned at him. “Come on, Major Kalonia will bust our asses if we don’t get you to Medical for a check-in.” 

Poe came and joined him just in time to help Finn back to quarters; he’d been given a bandage for his hand and an otherwise clean bill of health, but no steak or anything heavy until he’d had something like protein portions. He’d then upset his stomach by eating the portions too fast, and he regretted it now; he didn’t complain on the way back to their rooms, but he did collapse onto the bed gratefully when he got there. 

He must have drifted off, because when he woke up, Poe had pulled off his boots and tucked him in. Finn blinked, sitting up, and rubbing his stomach mournfully. 

“Back in the land of the living?” Poe asked. 

“Just,” said Finn, reaching for the water on the bedside table. His stomach groaned. “How can I be this starving?” 

Poe shrugged. “I got you something, if you want to try eating.” 

“Please,” said Finn. 

“Here,” said Poe. “It’s good for an upset stomach.” 

It was some sort of soft blue pudding; it wobbled opaquely when he put his spoon into it. It tasted like a memory he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something from before he was reconditioned. 

“I’m just hungry; my stomach isn’t upset.” 

“It’s good for re-introducing food if you haven’t eaten in a while, too. The Major told me you horked up the synth-steaks you tried to eat, so you’re still running on empty.” 

“It was a day without food at best,” said Finn. “You’re being weird.” He patted the bed. “Sit.” 

Poe sat on the bed, and Finn took a good look at him. Yes, he was being weird. But he’d also made Finn some blue pudding, which tasted like home, and he’d come to find Finn even when they’d all thought there was no chance of retrieving anything other than barbecued pieces of Finn. He wondered how badly he’d scared Poe, and Rey, and all of them. He finished the pudding, which was a lot more soothing than he’d anticipated, and put the bowl aside. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” said Poe, breaking the silence between them. Finn realised he’d probably been awkwardly staring. 

“Hearing your voice over the comms felt like the best thing in the galaxy,” Finn replied. “You’re not going to get strange about me flying missions are you?” 

“No,” said Poe. “It was a freak thing. Could have happened to anyone.” He took Finn’s hand. “But maybe we fly together for a while?” 

“I only just got out of being babysat on missions,” said Finn, with a mock pout. Eventually, people seemed to have figured out that Finn wasn’t going to suddenly turn First Order on them; he thought it had been the arrival of Master Luke and the decision that Finn would train alongside Rey that had done it, really, even though he’d been feeding them for ages before that. 

“Are you saying you don’t want my dulcet tones on your comms?” 

“I always want your dulcet tones on my comms,” said Finn, lacing the fingers of his uninjured hand through Poe’s. “Haven’t you got that yet?” 

It was dizzying how much Finn had missed him when they’d been apart, and it was just as dizzying being back together. 

“So that Jedi stuff about attachments…” Poe began. 

“Master Luke said it’s impossible to avoid attachments,” said Finn. “I figure he should know. But he also said that if one is careful, they needn’t be a problem. He thinks it might be better not to sequester all the Jedi away until they get loopy from lack of contact.” 

“So what counts as careful?” asked Poe. 

Finn couldn’t bear it anymore. He leaned over Poe, and let their lips meet. Poe yielded enthusiastically, and if Finn had thought he was happy before, it was nothing compared to the joy which thrilled through him now. 

“I’m not supposed to get my heart broken,” said Finn, when they surfaced. 

“I’ll keep it safe,” said Poe, which was so corny that Finn laughed, and then kissed him, even though Poe was now laughing so much that Finn had to haul him onto the bed. 

___________

 

Poe was possessive in his sleep; he kept on curling up against Finn’s back during the night, which made everything a bit hotter than it needed to be. That’s probably why Finn woke early one morning, the chill air creeping up his back where Poe should be, making his scar twinge; in a ridiculously short amount of time, he’d gotten used to Poe’s heat. He wondered what he’d do the next time Poe was on a solo mission, and then banished the thought, let it float on downstream and away from him. Poe usually woke him if he got up early for a run; Finn wondered if he’d looked like he really needed the sleep, or if Poe was plotting something. 

He suspected the latter. He got out of bed, wrapping himself in the majestic silken bedspread he’d acquired not long after getting his own quarters, and went to find Poe. Poe, who was not in the small living area of their shared space; there was, however, a beautifully laid breakfast table for three. 

Three? 

Finn thought he’d probably best put on some trousers, at least, and he stole one of Poe’s jumpers; not because he didn’t have his own, but because Poe’s jumpers were always so warm and soft. He’d just managed some semblance of clothing when the door slid open, and Poe wheeled in a trolley from the kitchens. 

“You’re kidding me,” said Finn, and Poe looked over to him. 

“Good morning to you, too,” he said. “This was supposed to be a surprise.” 

“I’m surprised,” said Finn. “I’m _definitely_ surprised.” 

“You’ll be pleased to know I had help with the cooking,” said Poe, as Finn got near enough that he could snag Poe’s waist, drag him closer for a kiss.

“Good morning,” said Finn, and Poe’s smile was electric. “What’s the occasion for the surprise?” 

“It’s been a year,” said Poe, and Finn blinked. “A standard Galactic year, not a year here on D’Qar. It’s been a year since you told me you needed a pilot.” 

“A year,” said Finn. They hadn’t used standard years in the First Order, just cycles, which seemed to be a bit longer than a standard Galactic month. But a year was a long time. He kissed Poe again, and tried to ignore the knocking at the door until BB-8 rolled over and opened the door for Rey, who gave them both a wry look. 

“Am I early?” she asked. “I couldn’t sleep in this morning; it’s not raining for the first time in ages, and so I got up a little early and—“ Finn pulled back a little from Poe, and raised an arm; Rey nodded and joined them briefly in their hug. “So Poe told me yesterday it’s been a standard Galactic Year.” 

“I thought we could have a celebration,” said Poe, moving to pull out chairs for Finn and Rey. “Even though I didn’t officially meet you until after the battle at Starkiller, Rey.” 

“BB-8 kept insisting I meet Master Poe, and we couldn’t find him anywhere — in the end I decided to give up and go to see how you were going, and there he was, sitting at your bedside.” 

“I thought you’d be scared if you woke up in an unfamiliar place,” said Poe. 

“I would have been,” Finn said, because he knew his weaknesses. 

“I would never have left if I hadn’t met Poe,” said Rey. “If I hadn’t known he’d care for you, even when I couldn’t.” 

“You told me you’d skin me if anything happened to him,” said Poe. 

“Then BB-8 threatened to shock me and I retracted the statement,” said Rey. Finn grinned. No matter how much BB-8 loved other people, Poe was still best-beloved. “I wasn’t used to being able to rely on people. Master Luke’s been — helpful. So have you both; no-one would ever have come and helped me, before.” 

Before what, Finn didn’t need to ask. He knew all about before. 

“You can always rely on us,” said Poe, and Finn nodded. 

“Always,” he said. 

“I know. Idiots.” Rey shook her head. “I forgot — while we’re on the subject of important things — I brought something for each of you.” She unclipped her satchel, pulling out her sketchbook. Finn already had some of Rey’s sketches, but he knew Poe didn’t, so he wasn’t surprised when she pulled out some loose leaves and handed them over to Poe and Finn. “I don’t really have anything to give people as gifts. I think I’m suppose to just bless them with my presence or something, which seems weird to me, but works for Master Luke.” 

“Thank you; this is beautiful,” said Poe, turning the picture of himself and Black One so that Finn could see it. Rey smiled, and bent down to BB-8’s height. 

“There’s one for you, too,” she said, and BB-8 made a happy noise, extending one of its retractable pincers with a grabby motion. 

“Show,” said Finn, and BB-8 showed them a drawing of what was clearly BB-8, bravest droid in the Resistance, saving the day on Jakku. The truth might have been a little embellished — BB-8 might have been fighting off an entire squadron of First Order TIE fighters in order to save Rey and Finn, and carry out the mission — but Finn loved it anyway. BB-8 was clearly overjoyed, if the rolling in circles and beeping was anything to go by. 

His own picture was of himself — stylised, like a character in a holo, like a proper Jedi. Poe whistled when he saw it. 

“I feel like I should have brought something,” said Finn. 

“You blessed us with your presence; you’re all right,” said Poe. 

Rey put a hand over his. “Finn…” 

“This is wonderful,” he said. “Something to aspire to, right?” 

“That’s not what I meant by it,” she said. “You’re already wonderful, Finn. You can’t see it, but the rest of us do.”

“Rey,” he said, and she squeezed his hand. 

“I finally think I understand what Maz Kanata was saying when she said I had to look forward to find my family,” she said. “Don’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he said, looking over at Rey, Poe, and BB-8. “I think I do.” 

It turned out Poe’s breakfast wasn’t the only only celebration planned for the day — in seeking help with the cooking, Poe had let slip to the pilots that it was Finn and Rey’s anniversary of ‘getting out of their respective awful childhoods’. It was also practically the anniversary of Starkiller, and of everything that had happened there, so the base was sort of on edge. People were jittery. Almost everyone had lost someone they loved, and that pain wasn’t relieved by the light of hope that had come out of the darkness that day. According to Snap, having something to do was a blessing. 

“It’s practically your birthday,” Pava announced, when Finn tried to get into the kitchen. “No cooking for you today. Feast tonight. Go on, out!” 

Finn felt supremely useless without a mission or a kitchen, and Master Luke had kindly given them the day off from training so that they could celebrate, which had the effect of just making Finn bored, because Poe didn’t have the day off from being Commander Dameron, and everyone kept chasing him away from the feast preparations. Besides, he felt a little uncomfortable with the concept of a feast; he wondered how the General felt, or Chewie, or any of the others who’d lost people. 

“I thought I gave you the day off?” Master Luke asked, when he caught Finn training alone. 

“I didn’t have anything to do, so I thought I’d do this,” said Finn, powering down his lightsaber and sitting on one of the big flat rocks that bordered the training fields. He sighed. “I’ll never be as good as you and Rey.” 

“That’s because you’re not like me and Rey,” said Master Luke. “You’re like my sister. She’s a spectacular leader; one day, you’ll be like her.” 

“And Rey will be like you,” said Finn. 

“Does that bother you?” 

Finn shook his head. “I think Rey is wonderful,” he said. “And General Organa — I should be so lucky as to be like the General, one day.” 

“And yet, there’s something troubling you,” said Master Luke, sitting beside him. 

“It’s the feast,” said Finn. “I don’t want to make people celebrate when there was so much lost.” 

Master Luke shook his head. “You aren’t _making_ them celebrate. They want to. There is a time for mourning,” he said. “And there will be mourning, and remembrance, once the party tonight is over. But without joy, we forget what we’re fighting for. We become mired in our past.” He shook his head. “For a long time I allowed myself to feel only sadness, and it made me flee anything that might have reminded me of why I chose the path that I am on.” 

“But you came back,” said Finn. 

“I did,” said Master Luke. “Allow yourself to feel happy tonight, Finn. Remind yourself of why you came here. Remind yourself why we still fight.” 

Later, he saw Master Luke with the Admirals, and all of them were raising a glass; there were people singing, and good food, and even the droids were getting in on the action, BB-8 and Peazy dancing with the ground crew to the laughter and applause of the whole base. Poe had an arm around Finn’s waist, and Finn turned his head to press his nose to Poe’s hair, feel the softness of it against his cheek, kiss Poe’s temple. He felt Poe’s fingers tighten a little against his side. 

“All good?” asked Poe. Poe always knew when to check in, when to affirm that no matter if Finn was feeling lost or overwhelmed, Poe would be there. Finn loved him with the energy of a thousand suns. 

“Remembering why we fight,” said Finn, and Poe leaned up and kissed him, right there, in front of everyone. 

 

_____________

 

If it was a year since Starkiller, it was a year since people had died. When the week grew long, once the feasting was done, they built a bonfire on the training fields and Master Luke officiated a ceremony around it. 

“Close your eyes,” he said. “And think of those who are at one with the Force. Remember them. Remember their laughter, remember the touch of their life against yours. Name them in your heart.” He let them wait, let them imagine. Finn thought of Han Solo, but then his thoughts shifted — to Jakku, to Slip’s blood on his helmet, to the thousands that must have died on Starkiller. He felt Master Luke’s comforting presence in the Force, as if to say _yes, Finn, it’s all right to mourn them too_. Master Luke looked up after what felt like an age, and said, “Name them here, in the presence of all who stand and fight.” 

“Korr Sella,” said someone. 

Then — 

“Lian Anto.” 

“Cirila Ivy.” 

“Han Solo,” said the General, clear and strong. 

“Lor San Tekka.” 

“89-3PO.” 

“Slip,” whispered Finn, and Poe grabbed his hand tightly. “JG-2041.” 

“Shara Bey,” said Poe, as Rey found Finn’s other hand. 

The chorus of names rose around them, fed the fire, went to the sky, went beyond. The radiance of the firelight flickered across people’s faces, across the metal of the droids, and Finn could feel the Force around them, binding them to one another, washing like a river through the crowd, leaving no-one untouched. Beside him, Rey exhaled, and cuddled in to his side. He hugged her, and he drew Poe close on his other side, and the grief that had threatened to drown him subsided into a bittersweet longing. It pulled at him, like his scar tingling on a cold morning, and he knew it would always be there, but he could live with it. Especially if he had Poe and Rey to help him be strong. 

After the fire had died down, Master Luke looked tired, and somehow older than he was. Finn realised with a start that he must have had a hand in that great sweep of the Force which had washed over the Resistance and brought them peace; he burned to be able to do that some day, to help heal what war and death had broken. The General took over as some of the droids raked the ashes, the organics in the crowd all still quiet and a little stunned. 

“We remember the fallen,” she said. “But we cherish what we have. Care for each other tonight; remind each other of who we are and what we value.”

It broke the spell only slightly; Finn didn’t feel inclined to move, and it didn’t seem Rey or Poe did either, the three of them standing by the dying embers, the three of them standing together against the dark. 

 

_____________

 

The next time Finn got in from a mission, he was too late to walk past the kitchens and stick his head in, which was always a bit of a gamble; still, he could smell something pleasant, and Poe had been waiting for him in their rooms, which meant that they were maybe a teensy bit later than he should have been to the evening meal. The yellow squadron pilots hadn’t left them any space at their table, which meant that — yes, Rey and Master Luke were there, and Finn joined them without a second thought. 

The food was surprisingly edible; much more so than when he’d first come to the small base on D’Qar. It was good, solid stuff, and Finn was solidly hungry, so he went back for seconds, scarfing down another portion of flatbread before he even made it back to the table to join his friends. 

There was a movement behind him. He closed his eyes and pinpointed it to a person, standing there with — hope? — in their heart. He was getting better at using the Force, but he was no Jedi yet. 

“Finn?”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning. “Oh, hi Skarob. How’s—“ He realised she was holding a plate of small pastries, twisted into knots, a brownish custard in the middle of them. She motioned to it. 

“Try it,” she said. “It took ages to get the ingredients — it was meant to be here for your birthday. Not your birthday. Whatever that was we did before the mourning day.” 

“You cooked this for me?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “You’ve been cooking for all of us for a year now,” she said. “I don’t think I ever said thanks. It’s…good. One of the best parts of the day. Knowing I can come down the mess and it’ll be — it’ll be like it is now.” 

“That’s down to all of us,” he said, that tingling scar feeling back in his chest. 

“But you began it,” she replied. “I’m sorry I ever — I’m sorry for doubting you. Now take a woodnut pastry before I eat them all.” 

He took one and ate it under her expectant gaze; maybe six standard months ago, he’d have been suspicious that it was a trap, but they’d all grown a lot since then. It tasted like — like the blue thing Poe had made for him, something that made him reach back into his past and half-remember what had been reconditioned away. 

“It’s delicious,” he said, and he meant it. “Thank you; you must’ve gone to some trouble to put this together.” She blushed. “Hey, come join us; I bet Rey would love these.” 

“Padawan Rey wouldn’t want to be dist—“ 

“No, come on,” he said, practically dragging her over. The table group had grown: Rhea had come over and was chatting with Admiral Brance about encryption; Snap, Jess, and Master Luke were talking shit about who would get the next manoeuvre named after them, with Poe snarking from the sidelines; and Rey was watching everyone in that way she still did, despite not being a scavenger anymore. 

Yeah. The best part about cooking for other people — and the best part of being cooked for _by_ other people — was eating with them. Finn insinuated himself next to Poe, and Skarob passed the plate around to ‘oohs’ and greedy fingers from the people who’d tried woodnut pastries before. Jess pulled Skarob down to sit with them before she could run away, and the conversation quickly turned to the garden, and whether woodnuts would grow there. Finn listened, taking another pastry, and he leaned against Poe because he couldn’t bear not to touch him, which escalated into Poe kissing him, and Finn getting a hand— 

“Get a room!” said Pava, throwing a spork at Finn and Poe. It bounced off Finn’s shoulder and tinkled harmlessly on the table. 

“They have a room,” said Rey, who was considerably worse at metaphor than Finn was. 

“Then they should go there,” said Pava. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Master Luke, his expression suspiciously twinkly. “Dinner and a show.” 

That got delighted noises of disgust out of everyone, except for BB-8, who rolled around telling everyone who would listen that it wanted to bunk in with Rey tonight. All right, Finn thought, so maybe he’d been getting a bit mushy. Still. There’d be battles, he knew, and missions, and strife. But there was also this small place they’d carved out for themselves, and the people they still had, and the food they’d made together. They’d have this, like fireweed growing on stony ground, hanging on, making the galaxy a better place just by existing. And no-one could bomb it out of existence, because they’d hang on, tenacious and useful, every one of them. 

“All right?” asked Poe, putting a hand on his knee, rubbing up and down his thigh, as the conversation moved on without them. 

“Perfect,” said Finn. “Never been better.”


End file.
